It's Where My Demons Hide
by GleeDWhoFreak
Summary: John arrives home to find a young boy watching television in their living room. Sherlock is being less helpful than usual and Mycroft lurks.


**It's Where My Demons Hide**

**I took a break from my others stories to help revitalize my muse. It's my first Sherlock story so I really hope that it turned out alright. Inspired by a scene in Man of Steel but twisted to fit Sherlock. Title taken from "Demons" by Imagine Dragons. When I was writing this, the song randomly came on my ipod and I was amazed at how well the lyrics matched the theme of my story.**

**Warnings: Briefly mentions a Mild Developmental Disorder.**

* * *

John was dead tired by the time his shift at the clinic ended. After ushering a thankful Mrs. Connors out the door with a prescription clutched in her meaty hands, he slowly pulled on his coat and shut off the lights to the examination room. The door shut behind him with a soft click and he took a moment to check his pockets for his keys before making his way to the exit. He managed a tired half smile to Martha the receptionist as he passed and she bid him a soft goodnight as she tidied up her station.

"John." He stopped at the sound of Sarah's voice, turning around to see her still dressed in her white lab coat and holding a metal chart in her hands.

"Are you leaving for the night?" she asked though it was pretty obvious by the state of the waiting room that there was no one else to see too.

He nodded. His shift had technically ended an hour ago but there had been a sudden influx of patients near the end of his shift and he'd stayed to assist the other doctors in an attempt to make up for the times that he missed while helping Sherlock on a case. Sarah had been grateful for his help. Two of her other doctors were home sick with the flu and she'd been short staffed.

"I thought since everyone was all taken care of, I'd grab some dinner and head home." John said with a strained smile. Ever since the Chinese circus incident and the subsequent end to their relationship after blowing her off to help Sherlock with the string of bomb threats that had led them to Moriarty, things had been tense between them.

John knew it was too late for any type of reconciliation but he hoped that one day they could be friends without feeling awkward around each other. Sarah smiled at him but it didn't reach her eyes, resigned about the whole situation.

"You'd better hurry, it looks like it's going to rain." She said thoughtfully, before walking away and not looking back. John tried not to feel guilty about the fact that he didn't feel the need to grieve over the end of their relationship.

He turned and walked out of the clinic, zipping up his coat as he went. He looked up at the sky and saw that Sarah was right. The clouds were heavy and dark. Thunder crackled in the distance and you could smell the charge in the air. It wouldn't be long now before the clouds broke and it started pouring.

He hiked up the collar of his coat and started towards the station to catch the tube. There was a Chinese restaurant near Baker Street that he would stop by and get dinner. The tube was packed, filled with people just as anxious to get home before the storm hit. He suffered through the crowding and unintentional groping for the three stops needed to get home, only to get off and be greeted by the rain. He huffed and made a quick dash down the street to the restaurant, trying not to get completely soaked. By the time the food was done, the rain had yet to let up and streaks of lightning lit up the sky.

He hurried home, fumbling with the keys in the lock while trying to keep the food moderately dry. He finally succeeded, pushing his way into the landing and took a second to shift the food in his arms, thankful that he was finally out of that deluge.

"Sherlock." John called out as he climbed the stairs. There was always a chance that Sherlock had gone out but John deemed that unlikely given the unsteady flow of casework that had been coming in lately and Sherlock's proclivity towards seclusion. He grabbed enough food for the both of them anyway.

John could hear the television on in the living room. He frowned, remembering Sherlock's indifferent opinion towards late night telly and walked into the room. He froze at the sight of a young boy sitting in his favorite armchair, watching a late night drama on BBC one. The boy glanced up at his arrival but quickly lost interest and turned his attention back to the television.

"Sherlock." He called out again uncertainly, scanning the room for his enigmatic flatmate.

"In here, John." Sherlock's deep baritone came from the kitchen and John found him behind his microscope, working on one of his experiments. It was hard to say which one since the man was great at multitasking when he wanted to be. After a while, John had come to the realization that he really didn't want to know any of the details.

"I brought dinner." John announced, setting the food down on the counter that Sherlock wasn't using. For once the kitchen was relative clean and there were no dead body parts lying around that he could see.

"That's good." Sherlock said absently, not looking up from his microscope.

"I didn't know we were having company." John said unimpressed with Sherlock's focus. He was a little more concerned over that fact that there was an unknown boy sitting in his living room then whatever fungus Sherlock was growing.

"What?" Sherlock finally glanced up at him, brow furrowed in confusion.

"There is a kid sitting in our living room, Sherlock. How could you miss that?" John asked incredulously.

"Oh. You mean him, "Sherlock sighed, annoyance creeping into his tone, "Mrs. Hudson dropped him off a couple of hours ago." He looked back down into his microscope, uninterested with the conversation.

John rubbed his eyes tiredly, "Who is he?"

"The orphanage that Mrs. Hudson volunteers at has sprung a leak. The first three floors were flooded and they were forced to evacuate temporarily. They've had some trouble finding placements for all of them so Mrs. Hudson took him in while the renovations are in progress." Sherlock replied dully, as if reading off a shopping list.

"So why is he up here? Where is Mrs. Hudson?" John glanced over at the boy, who appeared not to be listening to their conversation, fully engrossed in the show he was watching.

"At her sisters. She fell down the stairs and Mrs. Hudson went to go sort it all out."

"Again? That's the third time this month." John said worriedly.

"Yes. Tedious." Sherlock remarked, unconcerned.

John rolled his eyes, "So she left him here with you? Why did she just take him along?"

"Cats, John." Sherlock replied vaguely, expecting John to keep up. John, as he usually was when Sherlock was being clever, was hopelessly lost.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm allergic to them." John jumped in fright as the boy that they'd been talking about appeared right behind him, having approached too quietly for him to hear. Sherlock wasn't fazed.

"Deathly allergic it seems," Sherlock said lifting his head to change slides. John shot him a look of exasperation, though from the effect it had on his friend, it was really a wasted effort.

John smiled down at the boy, "I'm John, Sherlock's flatmate."

"Mrs. Hudson told me about you. Are you two shagging?" the boy asked, causing John to choke in surprise.

"No. No we're not. We're friends. That's all." John said and then added, "I'm not gay."

The boy cocked his head to the side, giving him a look that suggested he didn't believe him.

"John brought food," Sherlock interrupted, looking up at John in irritation, "Why don't you help him get a plate and go eat in the living room where I can't be bothered."

John forced a smile but it ended up looking more like a grimace. There were times that John wondered how he ever became friends with such an infuriating twat.

"C'mon then, we'll get you some food and leave Sherlock to his work." John said, putting a hand on the boys back and leading him towards the living room.

"What is your name?" John asked him as he sat him down.

"Bradley." The boy responded as he settled back onto the armchair. The boy had a thin face, John noticed. His skin was very pale, speckled with small freckles around his long thin nose and pudgy cheekbones that puberty had yet to take care of. He had piercing dark blue eyes and his hair was a muddy brown that hung messily around his ears in stringy waves.

"Well Bradley, sit tight and I'll go get you some food. I hope Chinese is okay. I didn't know we were having guests over." John said and the boy shrugged noncommittally.

"A little warning would have been nice. A simple text," John whispered reproachfully to Sherlock as soon as he returned to the kitchen.

"I was preoccupied." Sherlock defended, feeling justified.

"I'm sure you were." John let out an exasperated huff and turned around to get a couple plates from the cupboard behind him.

"Don't think this gets you out of eating. I don't care if I have to force feed you. You haven't eaten for two days now. It's not healthy." John ranted, well aware that Sherlock was most likely tuning him out but it had to be said. Hopefully one day, it would stick and he wouldn't have to worry about coming home to find out his flatmate had died from starvation.

The boy looked up at John in confusion, hearing his veiled threat about forcing Sherlock to eat. Sherlock didn't react to the threat suggesting that he was used to such things by now. Had John lied? Were they together and wanted to protect him from the truth in a terrible attempt to preserve his assumed innocence. Or was this something that all flatmates did?

John brought over a plate of food and handed it to him. John passed him a fork to eat with and then scratched the back of his head with unease.

"I didn't know what you wanted so I just gave you a bit of everything." He said, feeling a little dumb that he hadn't asked before.

Bradley shrugged again, picked up the fork and started shoveling rice into his mouth. He looked back at the television, quietly eating his food. John sighed and went to make himself and Sherlock a plate. He ended up forcefully dragging Sherlock from his experiment and they both converged in the living room, taking their seats on the couch near the wall that Sherlock had drawn a smiley face and shot holes into. Bradley looked up at the cluedo board speared on the wall above the mantle and the skull that Mrs. Hudson always tried to get rid of but Sherlock somehow managed to recover every time.

"Why do you have a skull on your mantle?" Bradley asked curiously, "Is it real?"

John opened his mouth to flat out lie to him, believing that it would be better in the long run but Sherlock beat him to it.

"Of course it's real," he said bluntly, "I use it to help me think."

"How does a skull help you think?" Bradley asked between bites of food.

"It comes in handy to relay my deductions to when John has to work." Sherlock said as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Bradley pursed his lips in thought, glancing between the skull and Sherlock.

"Does he talk back to you?" he asked finally. Sherlock looked mildly insulted though John smirked, thinking it was a valid question.

"No." Sherlock answered and then asked curiously, "How did you know it was male?"

"The jaw and the nasal cavity are both very large." Bradley observed, "I read it in a book at the orphanage about anatomy."

"I see." Sherlock said, his curiosity temporarily appeased. His mouth was twisted in a slight smile. John supposed he was impressed.

"How old are you, Bradley?" John asked. It seemed odd to him. The boy looked to be only eight years old. In his youth he remembered being more interested in rough housing with his friends outside then he was about learning about something as heavy as anatomy.

"Twelve." He said, to John's surprise.

"I wouldn't have guessed." John replied and then elbowed Sherlock in the side, reminding him to eat. Sherlock pouted childishly and took an exaggerated bite.

"Most people think I'm younger than I really am." Bradley shrugged, watching them both, "Mrs. Hudson says you guys are detectives." He changed the subject, taking the spotlight off him.

He was much more interested in his new sitters. Sherlock was still a big mystery, even after all the hours they spent together while John was at work. Upon their first meeting, the man had appeared cold and detached but the more time he spent around John, he realized that Sherlock was a lot more interesting than he first thought. And John, he was a lot like the caretakers at the orphanage. Warm and friendly but unsure how to handle him, most likely thinking that saying the wrong thing would set him off into a sulk or a fit of anger.

"I'm a consulting detective. John here is a doctor." Sherlock answered but it was mostly an excuse to keep his mouth occupied so he wouldn't be forced to eat.

"Really? I want to be a doctor when I grow up." Bradley said smiling happily.

"It's a very rewarding profession." John said awkwardly. Sherlock rolled his eyes but Bradley kept smiling, amused at the terrible attempt of encouraging him.

"What does a consulting detective do? Is it like a private detective?" Bradley asked Sherlock, eyes alight with childish curiosity. John was happy to see that growing up away from his parents in an orphanage hadn't taken away all his innocence.

"Sort of." Sherlock said, "I assist the police when they ask for it." And sometimes when they don't, John added silently, smirking.

"That's so cool." Bradley gushed and John could practically see Sherlock's ego start to inflate.

They lapsed into silence, Bradley continuing to look around the room. The show that he had previously been watching was over and infomercials were flashing on the screen, trying to get you to buy something.

John searched for something to say. Sherlock was being less then helpful, picking at his food that he'd barely eaten and John hadn't the energy to scold him anymore. Instead, he took the plate from his hands and stacked it on his own.

"Are you finished?" John asked Bradley as he passed him on the way to the kitchen. The boy nodded and piled his plate on top. John carried the pile into the kitchen and rinsed off the plates, putting them aside for tomorrow.

"What time did Mrs. Hudson say she would be back?" John asked Sherlock, who hadn't moved from the couch. In his absence he had laid down and put both his hands pressed together in his famous thinking pose, staring languidly at the ceiling.

"She didn't indicate." Sherlock replied, eyes flickering towards John and then back towards the ceiling.

"Well, I'm going to turn in. I had a long day at the clinic. If Mrs. Hudson doesn't get back before you turn in, make sure he has some blankets and let him sleep on the couch. Or your bed if you decide to stay up all night." He doubted that Sherlock was going to turn in any time soon but he didn't' want the poor boy to be forced to sleep on the armchair just because it slipped Sherlock's mind to offer him something better.

"Yes, John. I'm not an imbecile." Sherlock replied.

"Sometimes I wonder." John mumbled just loud enough that he was sure Sherlock had heard him but the man didn't reply.

"Goodnight, Bradley. It was nice to meet you." John said. Bradley gave him a nod and a smile in return.

"Are you sure you two aren't together?" John heard Bradley asked Sherlock before he left but didn't get to hear what Sherlock said in response.

* * *

When John woke up the next morning, he found Sherlock still on the couch and no sign of Bradley. He yawned and made his way to kitchen to put on a pot of coffee, absently noticing that the door to Sherlock's bedroom was closed. He carried two cups back into the living room, setting one down in front of Sherlock.

Bleak sunlight peeked in through the curtains, giving the room low natural light. The worst of the storm from last night had passed but John could hear the soft patter against the glass, suggesting the downpour had faded into a mere drizzle.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" John asked Sherlock, who had yet to react to his presence. Sherlock rolled his head to look at John, blinking slowly.

"A couple hours." Sherlock replied turning away.

"I didn't hear any violin." John remarked.

"I was thinking."

"Ah," John was extraordinarily well versed at the oddities of his friend by now, "What time did Mrs. Hudson get in?"

"She didn't. She phoned after you went to bed and asked if the boy could stay over. As per your request, he's sleeping in my bed." Sherlock said. He sat up and grabbed the cup of coffee John had thoughtfully prepared for him. He took sip of the dark liquid with a slight smile. John had perfected the precise amount of sugar he liked without even realizing it.

"I wonder how long he's going be staying. You said it was only temporary?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded, "That was my understanding." He took another drink.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to look after him for a bit. I don't have any work today but what are we supposed to do if a case comes in. We can't just take him along." John said trying to think about this logically.

Sherlock looked at him in confusion, "Why not?"

John was incredulous, "What do you mean why not? At his age?! It would be irresponsible of us to expose him to the sort of violence."

"As opposed to irresponsibly leaving him behind by to fend for himself?" Sherlock asked, "Children these days are a lot more exposed than we were. Especially kids in his situation."

"No, Sherlock. We're not taking him. End of discussion." John said with determination. He was not about to be swayed. He jumped up from the couch and pulled out his wallet.

"I'm going to get the paper. Do you need anything?" John asked. Sherlock ignored his question, lying back down on the couch.

"I'll take that as a no." John said with a sigh, "Might as well get some milk too." They were running low. Again. Maybe Bradley would appreciate some chocolate flavored. It was something he liked when he was his age.

As luck would have it, there were no new cases by the time Mrs. Hudson returned that afternoon, taking Bradley back down to her apartment with her profuse apologies and gratitude. She had been a little worried about leaving him alone with Sherlock but her sister had needed her help and it was all very last minute. Much to her surprise Bradley, who was well known at the orphanage for being unsociable with the other children around his age, had become enamored by Sherlock. At first John had tried to interact with him but the boy barely paid him any attention, choosing to follow Sherlock around like a second shadow. He soon gave up and let it be. But the biggest surprise had been Sherlock himself.

The man normally detested children. He went out of his way to avoid them on cases unless it was absolutely necessary. They were messy, impolite and bothersome, with an endless amount of curiosity and energy. But it was soon apparent that he didn't mind his new charge, answering his questions patiently and tolerating his general company with great decorum. John had been suitably impressed.

John had waved off her thanks, telling her what a well behaved child Bradley was. And it was the truth. He kept to himself mostly when he wasn't interacting with Sherlock. The boy liked to read, soaking up information like a sponge. In many ways, Bradley reminded him of what he thought Sherlock might have been like as a child.

John woke up the next morning to find Bradley in his kitchen, holding a beaker of clear foul smelling fluid for Sherlock and obediently grabbing him equipment when he was asked without complaint. Sherlock stood over four petri dishes, slowly dispersing the liquid into them.

"What's going on here?" John asked, shaking a finger at Sherlock, "Are you bullying him into helping you with your asinine experiments."

Sherlock rewarded him with a displeased glare.

"I'm helping." Bradley said proudly, holding up the beaker.

"Be careful. If you spill any of that, it will corrode the floorboards." Sherlock warned him. Bradley's cheek flushed with heat, momentarily chastised and immediately held still with a fierce look of determination.

"Ok," John said stepping forward and taking the beaker from the boy's hands, "I will take that."

"You don't give acidic chemicals to kids, Sherlock." He said, setting it down on the counter and wiping his hands off on his pants.

"It's not acidic." Sherlock said, feeling slighted, "And I'd hardly trust it to a twelve year old if it was."

"I don't believe you." John replied.

"Can I still help?" Bradley interrupted, staring at Sherlock pleadingly.

John sighed and shook his head in exasperation. He was never going to win.

"It's very early. Does Mrs. Hudson know where you are?" he asked instead.

The boy looked away with a guilty expression and mumbled his answer.

John smiled indulgently at him, "She probably thinks you're still asleep and is going to be very worried when she doesn't find you in your bed."

"Okay." Bradley said dejectedly and slowly meandered his way back downstairs, shoulders slumped in disappointment.

Sherlock, attention turned back to his experiment, didn't comment one way or the other.

"And what do you have to say for yourself?" John asked him.

"You have ketchup stains on those pants." Sherlock replied cheekily.

* * *

John wasn't surprised to see Bradley a couple hours later, bounding up the staircase. Sherlock had abandoned his experiments and was tinkering with his violin, thrumming the strings absently. Upon seeing him with his favored instrument, Bradley approached excitedly.

"Can you play something?" he asked sitting down next to John on the couch. Sherlock, standing by the window, graced him with a small glance while he deliberated on the answer. John rolled his eyes but didn't say anything, knowing that Sherlock would never pass up the chance to show off.

Without saying anything, Sherlock raised the body of the violin up to his neck and tucked the chinrest under his jaw. He wrapped his right hand around the neck, placing his fingers on the fingerboard and with a slight twist of his body, laid the bow across the strings.

As much as he protested hearing the violin at odd hours in the morning, John had always enjoyed watching Sherlock play. He had never seen anything like it. There were moments when John could swear that the man moved with the music, putting his whole heart and soul into the sound he was creating. Sherlock wasn't a grandmaster by any standards though he had the raw talent for it. His music was created with a passion that John didn't know the man was capable of, yet saw every time he sat down to play. Bradley, as it turned out was just as mesmerized. He watched Sherlock with awe and reverence, fingers absentmindedly tapping out a tempo to a classical piece that John didn't recognize.

As he finished the last note, Sherlock lowered the violin and faced his specters with veiled curiosity. He could guess John's opinion as the man freely gave it out, but Bradley had never heard him play before. For a moment, it seemed like the boy was speechless.

"That was amazing." Bradley said to John's amusement and Sherlock's ego, "I wish I could play that well." He said.

"You play the violin?" John asked curiously.

Bradley blushed, "No. The activity coordinator, Mrs. Arnolds, is teaching me how to play the piano. She thinks that I will help me. But the violin is so much cooler. Can you play something more modern?" He said asked.

"Indeed." Sherlock said, smirking slightly. Never one to disregard a challenge, Sherlock raised the bow and with a few experimental slides, started playing the theme song to Merlin. Bradley clapped excitedly and John just grinned. He couldn't deny that it was nice to see someone appreciating Sherlock for once and it wasn't often he saw this side of his flatmate. Sherlock was actually being considerate about someone other than himself.

They spent the next hour like that. Sherlock had moved on from performing to composing, stopping every few minutes to jot down the few notes he sounded out. He was starting to get the edge of insanity that he usually got when the lull between cases got too long and John hoped that he fought it off while Bradley was still around. No one needed to see that.

Bradley kept himself busy by reading one of John's anatomy texts that he'd leant the boy, thinking he would enjoy it and John had decided it was a good time to update his blog on their latest case, typing up his account.

The sound of someone ascending the staircase interrupted them and John looked over to see Mrs. Hudson standing in the open doorway. Sherlock stopped playing at the sight of her and set his instrument down in his case on the floor, putting the bow on the music stand behind it

"Good evening boys." She announced and walked further into the room, "That was a nice tune, Sherlock." she said to him like she always did. Sherlock bowed his head in acceptance but didn't say anything.

"I thought I'd find you up here." She said to Bradley, smiling knowingly at him, "I put out some food for lunch."

Bradley sighed and reluctantly shut his book, "I'm not very hungry." He said but then blushed when his stomach let loose a particularly loud grumble.

"Now none of that, young man." She said shaking a chastising finger at him, "I get enough grief from Sherlock. You'll come down and have yourself some food."

John laughed at Bradley's petulant expression as he stood up and walked towards the door.

"It's just transport." He grumbled as he descended the stairs. Sherlock wasn't trying very hard to hide his amusement.

"Look at what you started." Mrs. Hudson turned her ire onto her tenant, "All he talks about is Sherlock this and Sherlock that. I can't get a word out of him that doesn't include you in it."

"While I agree with you about not wanting to eat, I don't think having Sherlock as a role model is as bad as it seems." John said, coming to his defense.

"No," Mrs. Hudson smiled fondly at her two boys, "No, I suppose it's not." She walked towards the door and then stopped, turning back to face them.

"You both are welcome to join us." She extended, "I'm sure Bradley will enjoy the company and heaven knows that I always make more than I need."

Sherlock opened his mouth to decline but John intercepted him.

"We would love too," he said, not giving Sherlock the choice. Maybe between the two of them they could get Sherlock to eat more than a couple bites which would make Bradley more agreeable to the idea as well.

"Then I'll see you both in a moment." Mrs. Hudson said happily, leaving them to get ready. Sherlock glared at him but John ignored it.

"I'm going to go change my shirt." John told him, "Then we'll head down."

Sherlock continued to glare at his back before huffing and throwing himself down on the couch to wait. If they wanted him there so bad then they wouldn't care about him wearing his sleep pants and robe. He wasn't about to dress up for a dinner he didn't want to be at.

* * *

Upon entering 221 A, John took the time to reflect that in all the time he'd lived here, this was the first time he'd ever been in Mrs. Hudson's part of the house. The layout was similar to their own but instead of the dark wood bookcases and the black and grey fleur-di-lis wallpaper, she had plastered pink and white floral wallpaper on the walls, accenting her antique furniture. It was all very bright and homey.

John would have thought it was a miracle that he managed to goad Sherlock into eating his lunch but he knew for a simple fact that it was for Bradley's sake. He ate what was dished out to him, which was quite a bit considering that John insisted on being the one to fill his plate and Bradley followed his lead.

John considered it a win.

After lunch, John helped clean up while Sherlock entertained Bradley, listening to them in amusement as the boy chatted his ear off. The topics ranged from what he'd read in John's books earlier to his favorite television shows. Sherlock didn't contribute much from the occasional one word answer but that didn't seem to deter Bradley much.

"The food was lovely Mrs. Hudson." John said to her as she passed.

"Thank you dear," she said, "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Sherlock seemed to enjoy it as well."

"Yes. I didn't think it was possible but Bradley is perhaps the best thing that could have happened." John said. He frowned when Mrs. Hudson looked away, biting her lip anxiously.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"The orphanage called while I was cooking. They've managed to fix most of the damage and are starting to recall a lot of the children back as the rooms are opening up. They're coming to pick him up on Monday." Mrs. Hudson said. That was two days away. "It's a shame that he can't stay but I'm not as young as I used to be. It's hard enough to take care of myself nowadays and my sister always needs me for something. I just don't have it in me anymore. Raising children is a young person's game."

John frowned and looked back to where Sherlock and Bradley were sitting. Bradley was talking animatedly, gesturing with his hands and Sherlock looked content to just sit there. It was strange to see Sherlock so relaxed when he should have been agitated by his continuous boredom.

"To tell you the truth John, I think Sherlock did just as much to help Bradley. Honestly, the pair of them. A match made in heaven" Mrs. Hudson said her voice cracking up a bit. John feared she was going to start crying.

"What do you mean?" John asked, hoping that his questions wouldn't upset her more.

"Bradley is a very special child. He has a hard time socializing and most of the other children don't know how to interact with him. I am glad that he was able to make friends with Sherlock. He doesn't seem to have many." Mrs. Hudson replied softly.

"I've never really thought about children." John said, "When I was younger I thought I would eventually marry and have kids but then I chose to join the army and put it off. After I was discharged, I briefly thought of settling down again. But then I met Sherlock and things just never felt right. Relationships are complicated enough without trying to add a kid to the mix."

Mrs. Hudson hummed in agreement, "That they are."

"Children need stability, especially children like Bradley. Our life is anything but stable. It's dangerous and unpredictable." John continued, not really sure what he was trying to say. He felt uneasy, lungs pinched for air.

John sighed and turned to face Mrs. Hudson, "When are you going to tell him?"

"I was thinking about tonight but it might be better if I wait till tomorrow. He's having too much fun and I don't want to spoil it." Mrs. Hudson replied, her eyes softening. John could tell that it was going to be heartbreaking having to explain to Bradley why he had to leave and was lucky that he only had to deal with Sherlock.

Sherlock and John left an hour later. Bradley had asked to come with but Mrs. Hudson had pulled him into helping her clean out some storage that had been piling up, though she had no doubt that he was going to escape upstairs when they were finished. John made tea when they got back to their flat and for the next half an hour, Sherlock watched him curiously. John had a nervous energy about him, never meeting Sherlock's eyes and avoiding him all together.

"You are upset." He said. John made tea when he was upset but he didn't drink it. It was a habit that he had picked up from his mother. John, sidetracked from pouring his fourth cup of tea, turned to face Sherlock.

"I'm fine." John said setting the kettle back down on the stove.

"We're almost out of clean mugs." Sherlock pointed out and John sighed in defeat. He wasn't naive enough to think that he could avoid this conversation forever but he had hoped to push it off till tomorrow.

"Bradley is leaving on Monday." John said figuring it was easier if he got it over with quickly, like ripping off a band-aid. His admission was met with silence and he looked over at Sherlock, apprehensive about what he was going to see. The Irene Adler incident was still fresh in his mind.

Sherlock's expression didn't change and John blinked, not entirely sure what he was expecting. The last few days had been surreal.

"Are the renovations done?" Sherlock asked. His voice was devoid of any emotion.

"Most of them. They've fixed enough to start moving the children back in." John said, "Mrs. Hudson found out today."

"I see." Sherlock said and John handed him one of the mugs, taking one for himself. Sherlock stared at the cooling liquid, ignoring John in favor of his own thoughts. The languished in silence until John couldn't take it anymore.

"It's okay to be sad you know, about Bradley. I know how much you care about him." He said, snapping Sherlock out of his thoughts.

"I've only known him for three days, John." Sherlock replied objectively.

"Sometimes it doesn't matter." John smiled, "I for one will be sad to see him go."

"Indeed." Sherlock nodded but that was all John could get him to say on the matter. He abandoned his cup of tea and headed over to his violin. John sighed and prepared himself for Sherlock's method of coping with his turbulent emotions.

John looked over at the window. The rain had long stopped and the gloom of yesterdays skies were finally clearing but John thought that rain right now might be a little more appropriate for the long night they had ahead of them.

* * *

It was the first time in a long time that Sherlock had fallen asleep before him, his exhaustion combined with the food he'd eaten, finally subduing him. John had curled up in the armchair with a book, sitting across from where Sherlock was laid out on the couch. He wished the man had gone to his room to sleep in his actual bed but he supposed that beggars couldn't be choosers. He was just glad to see Sherlock resting.

Every so often he looked up to unconsciously check on his flatmate. The man didn't get many nightmares but the ones he did get were bad and usually happened when they were between cases, old memories stirring up.

"John!" John jerked violently at Mrs. Hudson's scream, startling Sherlock out of his slumber.

"What the…?" he trailed off, blinking tiredly.

"I have no clue." John set his book down and quickly got up, racing downstairs. Mrs. Hudson had screamed in terror, something that didn't happen very often. She was a tough lady as John had come to learn.

"Mrs. Hudson." He called out for her and she met him at the landing of the stairs, hands pressed against her mouth and eyes wide in fright. She glanced up at Sherlock who had followed him down.

"John, I don't know what's wrong. Please, do something." She said holding onto his arm tightly when he got to the bottom of the stairs.

"What happened?" he asked her.

"Where's Bradley?" Sherlock asked before she could respond.

"The bathroom. I thought I heard something and I found him in the shower. I don't know what's wrong with him but he won't respond to anything." Mrs. Hudson said her voice higher than usual.

John gently dislodged her hold and ran passed her into the flat. He heard the sound of the shower running and raced over to the bathroom near the hallway. He wasn't sure what he expected to find but whatever it was, it was going to be bad.

He found Bradley sitting in bottom of the shower, dowsing himself underneath the spray of water. It wouldn't have seemed odd if he wasn't still fully dressed. He had his arms wrapped around knees, rocking back and forth slightly. John could hear him mumbling something under his breath as he stared with wide eyes at something only he could see.

Sherlock came in behind him, pausing at the sight of the boy.

"Bradley," John called as he crept closer, searching him for injuries. The boy appeared to be unharmed, if only soaked. When he tried to reach out to touch, Bradley pulled away from him in terror. Up close he could hear what the boy was saying.

"It's too big. There's too much." He said and then brought his hands up to his ears, wide eyes searching out too many things, wincing as if in pain. John tried to take his pulse before Bradley pulled away again. His heart was beating rapidly and his breathing was too short. He was hyperventilating, losing too much carbon dioxide and not getting enough oxygen.

"Bradley, you're having an anxiety attack, I need you to take deeper breaths and try and calm down." John said but his words were unable to reach him. While he was taking his pulse, he checked out his throat, happy to see that while he appeared to have trouble breathing, it wasn't due to any sort of inflammation.

"Call an ambulance, Sherlock. I can't get him to calm down. It could be a bad asthma attack or the start of an allergic reaction." John turned back to Sherlock, who had gone pale, standing frozen in the doorway. He stared at Bradley as if the boy was a wild animal going to attack him.

"They can't help him. It's more than an anxiety attack." Sherlock stumbled forward and crashed to his knees in front of Bradley, pushing John out of his way.

"Sherlock!" John cried out in outrage as Sherlock half submerged himself under the spray of water. He covered the boy's trembling hands with his own and gently pulled them away from his head.

"Look at me, Bradley." He commanded. The sound of his voice drew his attention and their eyes met. The poor boy appeared to only be half aware of what was going on.

"That's it. Focus on me." Sherlock said, his voice softer than John had ever heard it.

"The world's too big. There's too much!" Bradley cried out, wincing in pain and pulling at his hands like he didn't know what to do with them.

Sherlock had the ability to remain calm at the sight of the boy's suffering, keeping a level head. John too, his senses hardened by war but when he heard the sound of Mrs. Hudson in the background quietly sniveling, he stood up to comfort her. He'd forgotten the fact that not everyone was as well adjusted to violence as they were.

"If the world gets too big, make it smaller." Sherlock said and there was something soothing about that rich baritone that made Bradley start to calm, his breathing getting a little easier.

"What do you mean?" he asked, voice shaking.

"Close your eyes." Sherlock said gleaming in satisfaction when the boy's eyes fluttered closed, instinctively trusting Sherlock despite having only known him for a few days.

"I want you think of a place, a place that makes you feel completely safe. It can be a place that you been to before or one that you create yourself. Can you do that for me?" Sherlock asked him and John watched in fascination as Bradley nodded, body falling lax and his breathing slowly returned to normal.

"Did you find one?" Sherlock asked.

"Uh huh." Bradley nodded, clenching his eyes tight.

"Good." Sherlock took a deep breath, "Concentrate on my voice and let everything else disappear."

Bradley winced, "I can't! It hurts."

"Listen to me. To my voice. It's the only thing I want to you to think about." Sherlock said as memories flashed before his eyes.

_Pounding heart beat. Nerve ends on fire, over stimulating. Muscles jerking about restlessly, needing to be in motion. Lungs constricting as the world around him expanded and contracted. Thoughts racing. Head aching._

_Listen to my voice, Sherlock._

_Warm. _

_Safe._

John jumped at the sound of the doorbell and Mrs. Hudson rushed to go answer it, letting the medics inside with a stretcher. She'd been the one to call when John had asked Sherlock to.

"Hold on a second." He told them as they tried to brush past him to get to Bradley and Sherlock, "I think he has it under control."

"We have to check it out." The one in front said with a frown, staring at the scene in front of him in puzzlement.

"Let me talk to him first," John said walking forward and putting a hand on Sherlock's' shoulder. His shirt was drenched, curly hair slicked back. John reached up and shut off the water, turning his head back to look at their audience.

"They can't go out like this. They'll get hypothermia. Mrs. Hudson can you get Bradley some dry clothes and some blankets. I'm a doctor." He said to the medics, hoping it would give Sherlock a few more moments.

"Sherlock, the medics are here to take a look at Bradley. You've got to let them do their job." John told him. Sherlock looked up at him briefly before nodding. He started to stand but Bradley reached out and grabbed a hold of his wrists, pulling him back down.

"It's okay. He's not leaving. We're just going to move you somewhere more comfortable." John soothed. With Sherlock's help, they were able to get Bradley up and onto the stretcher. Mrs. Hudson hovered behind them, clutching a pair of dry clothing close to her bosom.

The medics did an initial check to make sure he wasn't in any danger and then turned around to give Sherlock and John some privacy as they helped Bradley change into dry clothes. Mrs. Hudson took the sodden pair and dumped it into the sink, leaving the mess for later. There was quite a commotion when they wheeled him out, neighbors having heard the ambulance and wondering what had happened. Sherlock followed them out, wrapped up in a thick blanket.

Bradley kept hold of his wrist until he was forced to climb into the waiting ambulance. They hooked him up to a heart monitor and started him on an IV drip. Once the mild sedatives kicked in, Sherlock was able to free himself from Bradley's grip and step back to let the medics take over. When he turned around to find John and Mrs. Hudson he was surprised to see his brother standing nearby, a black SUV parked behind him. One of his many minions, Sherlock never bothered to remember their names since they very rarely gave out there true ones, stood a few feet away speaking quietly into a mobile phone.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, brother?" Sherlock asked as he approached. Mrs. Hudson had busied herself with the neighbors, stopping as many rumors as she was starting them. John joined him at Mycroft's side, ready to step in between the two brothers if things started to get nasty.

"As I've often stated before Sherlock, I am invested in your future. When the ambulance was called, naturally I was worried that something had happened." Mycroft said though from his derisive tone and accompanying smirk, it wasn't meant to be taken seriously. Sherlock sighed and looked away, pulling the blanket closer around him.

If Mycroft was curious as to why Sherlock looked half drowned, he didn't' stay anything. He walked forward and put his coat around his brother's shoulders, giving him a stern glare when Sherlock tried and failed to stubbornly shrug out of the way.

"For god's sake, Sherlock. Go change your clothes before you catch something." John said, just realizing it himself.

"I'd listen to the good doctor, Sherlock," Mycroft said stepping back, twirling his umbrella gently, "After all, I've heard rumors that Scotland Yard has been handed a particularly intriguing case. You wouldn't want to miss it."

"You always did like to keep your ears to the ground." Sherlock said with mild scorn as he turned around to walk away, heading back towards the house. At the last second he stopped and looked back at his brother with a peculiar expression, two emotions warring on his face.

"I never did thank you for those nights, Mycroft." Sherlock finally said with a surprising amount of humility. It was one of the rare moments that Sherlock had opened himself up to be vulnerable, exposing his true feelings for his brother.

Mycroft, instead of poking fun at Sherlock's sincerity, nodded his head in acceptance. And with that, concluded their bonding moment. John honestly thought that it was about as dysfunctional as a family could get but it seemed to work for them. His own relationship with his sister was similarly strained but they somehow managed to tell each other that they still did and would always care for each other.

"You have a funny way of showing it but you do love him." John said as soon as Sherlock was gone.

Mycroft's smirk shouldn't have been as reassuring as it was but John would have been worried if he'd broken down in a fit of emotion. It wasn't the Holmes way.

"Tell me what happened in there, John." Mycroft ordered him in his usual pompous way and John sighed before complying.

"I can't say I understand it but Sherlock was able to get in there and I don't know… soothe the boy. He was having a hysterical fit, saying that everything was too big and it hurt. Sherlock told him to imagine a place, not unlike his mind palace I think, that he feels safe and to just listen to his voice. I've never seen anything like it. It was like he knew exactly what Bradley was going through and was able to help him through it." He said, mildly frustrated at his lack of understanding.

"You see, John. You're not as dim-witted as you'd like to believe. " Mycroft said smiling. John wasn't sure if he was supposed to be complimented or insulted which made him all the more annoyed since he still didn't understand what Mycroft was saying.

"Thanks… I suppose." He said, "What did I say?"

Mycroft looked back towards the house where Sherlock had disappeared.

"He did know what the boy was going through. He probably recognized the symptoms days before and figured it was only a matter of time before this happened. You see…" Here Mycroft paused, wondering how much he should say. Sherlock cherished his privacy and often went to great lengths to conceal it, especially his past. But this was John and if anyone deserved to know, it was him.

"He went through similar episodes when he was younger, unable to handle his gifts at such young age. I suppose you could call it information overload. Sherlock, even when he was a child, saw things differently, he observed everything around him. His… condition made it difficult for him to separate his thoughts from his observations, causing a complete shutdown. But using the techniques he was taught, he honed his abilities and the problem more or less went away." Mycroft said.

It was the closest John had ever got to a confirmation that Sherlock had a mild developmental disorder. He'd casually mentioned it to Lestrade in Dartmoor but had never tried to confirm his suspicions. Sherlock wouldn't thank him for it and he liked his sanity.

"You taught him how to handle it, didn't you?" John said in astonishment. It all made perfect sense now that he thought about it.

Mycroft's associate advanced toward them, phone held into his shoulder to muffle the sound.

"Mr. Holmes, your needed at once." He interrupted. Mycroft smiled at John, refusing to answer his question, though he assumed the answer was quite obvious.

"I've taken the liberty to have the boy tested. It's too late for Sherlock, but maybe Bradley can have some peace. Until next time, John." He said swinging his umbrella as he walked towards the car, his associate obediently following him. John watched as the door was opened and Mycroft vanished into the car.

John shook his head and walked back towards the house, wondering if his life was ever going to have any semblance of normality.

* * *

They kept Bradley overnight for observation and by the time he was released, the Orphanage figured it was easier to just come pick him up a day early from the hospital than letting him come home with Mrs. Hudson. Bradley had been depressed to learn he was leaving but excited when Sherlock and John visited the next day.

They were given a small room with a table and a couple couches to sit on for their visit. It was bittersweet to see how Bradley lit up at the sight of Sherlock, knowing that at the end of the day, he couldn't come home with them. This was Bradley's home until someone came to adopt him.

"I brought something for you." Sherlock said giving him a plastic sack that he'd brought in with him. Bradley opened the sack with glee, eyes going wide at the sight of a dark brown teddy bear wearing a checkered boy tie around its plump neck. He pulled it out and held in his hands, fingers caressing the soft fur. In its small paws, a plush bee was stitched to make it look like the bear was holding it in its palm.

Bradley launched himself at Sherlock, hugging him tightly around the waist. He buried his face into his chest to hide his sudden tears, a little ashamed at their presence. John smiled as Sherlock, who startled at the boy's sudden movement before relaxing into the hug and wrapping his arms around him in return.

"Thank you." Bradley whispered as he pulled away, wiping at his face stubbornly.

"I had some say in it too, you know." John said, "Sherlock wanted to get you a stuffed bee but that just seemed silly. So we comprised on this."

"I love it." Bradley said standing up to hug John too.

John had been the one to suggest getting him something to remember them by even though they'd both come to the decision that they were going to visit again. John didn't know what it was like to be a father but he did know that if he had to choose anyone to be by his side, Sherlock Holmes wasn't the worst person he could think of.


End file.
